


Almost Too Far, Almost Not Far Enough

by EvasiveWarrior (Emilightning)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide- reference, but i needed something nice to dull the pain a little bit, college-age AU i guess, some light prinxiety but it's not really about that, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-23 23:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21328741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilightning/pseuds/EvasiveWarrior
Summary: Things you wish you'd never done. Things you wish you'd just done right the first time.Sometimes it's all the same.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Almost Too Far, Almost Not Far Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are important; please make sure you read them before continuing. Vaguely a songfic, kinda sorta, since it was inspired by the song 'Ghost' by Badflower (if you wanna give that a listen. Trigger warning for that too, though).
> 
> So yeah, this isn't my proudest work or anything, but I needed to get some stuff out. I wasn't sure whether I should post it or not. Sorry if it's too much.

"Can I ask you something?"

Virgil looked up from his phone, quickly closing the page he'd been skimming through for about an hour. He bit back his first instinct, which was to respond with "you just did", and shifted slightly to look at the other boy. For one thing, he was pretty sure he'd never heard Roman Prince hesitate to open his mouth before, so that was notable in itself. 

"I guess so," he said at last. The look he was receiving was more than a little off-putting, but if things got too intense, he could always leave. Not the most elegant solution, sure, but it was the quickest. And he'd done it before anyway. Avoiding unwanted conversations was something he'd become very good at over the past few years.

Roman had been alternating between staring at him and staring at the floor, and he stuck to the latter as he began his question. "How did you, uh... I mean, when did you..." 

Virgil raised an eyebrow patiently. "Yeah?" Alarms were starting to go off in the back of his brain at the tone of his friend's voice-- it sounded too familiar, too sympathetic. But he wouldn't crack, not yet. He wanted to make him ask. To say the words. Most people wouldn't, or couldn't. 

As it turned out, though, Roman wasn't backing down. He rushed the words out, as if they'd retract themselves before he could finish: "Remember the other day at the poetry thing? When you left in the middle of it?" 

Virgil remembered, of course. They'd gone out to an open-mic poetry reading at a coffeehouse nearby, along with a few other friends. None of them had any intentions of performing anything themselves, but they'd all wanted to check it out for various reasons. 

About halfway through, after several more lighthearted pieces that had made Virgil feel more relaxed than he normally would surrounded by other people, there'd been one performer who had read what must have been an original poem. It was eerily similar to the kinds of things Virgil himself used to write-- not that he'd_ ever_ have shared those with anyone-- and it had hit too close for comfort. He'd slipped out of the room, shivering outside in the cold November air for the remainder of the poem, and for the next two or three just to be on the safe side. 

None of the others had mentioned his brief absence afterwards, and he'd almost completely let his guard down, thinking maybe he hadn't been as obvious as he'd feared. But now here was Roman asking him about it. He should've known; the guy was more observant than most people gave him credit for. 

"What about it?" he asked cooly, glancing back down at his phone again.

"I was just... thinking about it today," Roman shrugged. He looked and sounded uncomfortable._ Good, _Virgil thought. Maybe he'd just let it drop. 

"Yeah, I wasn't feeling great that night." Well, it wasn't exactly a lie. He hadn't felt great at all once he'd realized what that damn poem-- disguised with all those metaphors about running water, slowing to a drip until it stopped-- was really about.

So _obvious_. And so familiar it _hurt_. "It was okay though; I still had fun."

Roman gave him a half-smile. "Good. Me too." He paused for a moment. "Are you sure you're all right, though?" 

Virgil was resting on the floor now, hanging half upside-down with his legs propped up on the sofa. It was a habit of his to sit in the most awkward positions when he was stressed, to distract himself from whatever was going on. "Yup," he answered simply. 

The fabric of his hoodie caught up underneath him as he tried to cross his arms. It tugged one sleeve up towards his elbow, exposing a good portion of his forearm. He heard Roman exhale sharply before he could finish pulling it back down, scrambling to sit upright.

_Too late. You fucking idiot._

There was a heavy silence between the two. Although they were only sitting a few feet apart, Virgil desperately wanted to act as if they didn't see each other. As if there was nothing unusual about the state of his lower arms. Trying to appear as casual as he could, he started scrolling through his phone again with shaking hands. Nothing was registering; it all ran by in a blur.

"What," he asked in a flat tone, feeling his face burning. "What are you staring at, Princey?" 

Roman shook his head. "I'm not- I'm sorry."

Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil could see him trying to look away and sneaking glances back at him, and it finally got to him. He jumped up off the couch and yanked his sleeves all the way down, hiding everything but the tips of his fingers from view. "Well, I should go." 

Before he could start to head for the door, Roman leapt out of his seat too. "No, wait. Don't. I'm sorry." 

_Why did he keep apologizing like that_? "It's nothing, I just- I need to leave. Don't worry about it," Virgil mumbled, feeling more like an idiot with every word. 

"I shouldn't _worry_ about it?" To his credit, Roman's voice lacked any note of shock or disgust or pity, or any of the things Virgil had grown to expect from people. It was just... gentle.

And that was the worst thing it could be, really. 

Virgil's jaw was tight and trembling. He focused all his energy on looking anywhere except the boy with the brown eyes so beautiful it looked like he'd stepped out of a Disney cartoon. "No. It's not worth worrying about, okay?" 

Roman's answer was as confusing as ever. "All right... yeah. I know I'm not exactly the easiest person to talk to." He took a step back, giving Virgil more than enough room to bolt out the door and leave this all behind. The sad way he tilted his head made it clear that, in fact, that was exactly what he expected Virgil to do. 

And he wouldn't have been wrong, except... except Virgil didn't want to move from his spot. This was a situation he'd done everything in his power to avoid with everyone he talked to-- even the few friends he'd finally managed to make. And _especially _with Roman. Why did he suddenly feel as if he was stuck in place, melded to the floor? Why were every one of his carefully built-up instincts screaming at him to play this off as nothing, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave? 

"We don't know each other that well," he muttered at last. "I've been dealing with this by myself for a long time, okay? And I know it looks... messy, but I can handle it." He zipped his hoodie up as far as it would go and stuck his hands in the pockets. "I'll see you around."

He wouldn't, but he didn't want to say it. 

As he reached for the door handle, Roman surprised him once again. "Wait. Could I just see it? Please?"

The boldness of his question shocked both of them. Virgil coughed, stammering for a response. "But why- I mean, you already saw." It wasn't that he didn't trust him, but there was no possible reason he could think of that anybody would want to see his scars up close more than once. At least, not a good reason. 

Roman looked guilty as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. I just... I'm curious is all." He backpedaled quickly. "If you don't want to show me, I completely understand-"

"No," Virgil said quickly. His voice came out high and shaky. He took a slow, deep breath, trying to convince himself that maybe this wasn't the worst thing he could possibly do. "No, it's... fine." After all, Roman knew what was up now. It wasn't like they could still hang out after this. So why not just get it out in the open?

He rubbed the soft, worn material at the end of his sleeve for a moment. A loose thread or two hung off it-- just a testament to how often he wore the thing. Anything with long sleeves worked just fine, but the hoodie was too comfortable _not_ to wear as often as he could. 

Before he lost his nerve (or regained his better judgement, really), he forced himself to push the sleeve up a few inches. He dared to sneak a glance at Roman, who was looking at him with a mixture of sadness, surprise, and awe. It made him push it up a little more. Not all the way, but enough. More than he ever had before.

He did the same with the other sleeve, then held his arms out in front of him, careful to only show the tops. That was more than enough, of course; scars both faded and semi-fresh ran across the length of his forearms. Roman winced a little as he caught sight of some of the more nasty ones, but those were so old that Virgil almost wanted to tell him again that it wasn't worth worrying about. _He_ wanted to reassure _him_. It was funny how that worked. 

After what felt like an eternity, the silence was broken. "So how long have you..." 

"Years," Virgil said, sparing him from finishing the question. "It got worse, and then it got better." 

"And... what about now?"

Virgil shrugged. "It's been awhile. I don't know. I haven't really stopped by choice; I just don't feel like I need to do it most days." 

"And if you felt like you needed to, then you would?" All Roman got in response was another shrug, but he didn't let it drop. "Virgil? Listen, I don't know what to say. I don't want to say the wrong thing, but I need you to know that..." He sighed, closing his eyes for a second as he thought about what to say. "I know how easy it can be to take things too far, even by accident. You know? And if you're anything like me- which I'm not saying you are- but if you are, then I don't... want you to..." 

His voice struggled as he attempted to keep the sudden waves of emotion in check. Virgil gazed up at him from underneath heavy bangs and dark circles, and he felt a burning instinct to make Roman's fear go away. "I know what you're saying, Ro," he said quietly. He couldn't believe what he was about to tell him, but they'd gotten this far, hadn't they? "Um, I tried that once before, though. I didn't get very far."

Roman opened his mouth, then closed it again. The expression on his face was hard to read. "When?"

"About three years ago."

"This is probably the stupidest question to ask, but... did it hurt?"

Virgil grimaced. "Not enough." He tried to crack a smile to show that he was half-joking, but he could feel his face growing hot as tears sprouted in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly. "Sorry." 

Roman was looking at him achingly now. "Hey, can I hug you?" 

Virgil looked directly at him for the first time since the conversation had begun, stunned. "What?" He'd expected to have to explain more, and it had already pre-exhausted him, thinking about all the excused he would have to make, all the promises... but the thought of being hugged, as scary as it was, made him want to cry with relief. 

So he did. And he let Roman wrap his arms around him, feeling like a fragile thing, but also something worth protecting. He'd never really thought of himself in that way. 

"I've always thought about how it didn't work," he mumbled, face pressed up against Roman's soft shirt. It was hard to speak like that, but he didn't want to pull away completely. "I know I messed it up, I didn't really know what I was doing, you know?" 

"I don't think you messed it up," Roman said softly. "I don't think you messed anything up."

"If you'd asked me three years ago, I would've told you different." 

"Then... then I'd tell you I'm glad you messed up." They both tightened the embrace, understanding that they'd be standing there in each other's arms for a long time.

Virgil sighed, resting his head on the other boy's shoulder. "Yeah. Me too." 

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be much angstier and ventier, but I'm in a more mellow mood as I'm finishing it. Or maybe I'm just a coward who likes a good hopeful ending in a short fic when I'm not feeling too hopeful about my own life.


End file.
